


paths of beauty wind through his black world

by mothicalcreatures



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Blind Character, Blindness, JFJ207, M/M, Tenderness, braille and other early hand reading methods, coming to terms with disability, hand holding, just like old language usage, mild historical ableism, minor discussion of eye trauma in end notes, nothing derogatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25573456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothicalcreatures/pseuds/mothicalcreatures
Summary: James’ sight had begun to fail on their long walk toward Fort Resolution. It had started with his left eye, and, while at first it had seemed contained, by the time they were England bound aboard theEnterprise,his right eye had begun to fail as well. When they finally reached England’s shores, five long years after they sailed, James had gone completely blind.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 19
Kudos: 60





	paths of beauty wind through his black world

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oochilka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oochilka/gifts).



> Written for and inspired by [this tweet](https://twitter.com/AnnaMigulko/status/1283545241275047936) from @oochilka
> 
> Also with [some amazing art from @oochilka too!](https://oochilka.tumblr.com/post/625027217938907137/an-illustration-for-paths-of-beauty-wind-through)
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful @blasted_heath
> 
> The title comes from ["A Chant of Darkness" by Helen Keller](https://www.afb.org/about-afb/history/helen-keller/books-essays-speeches/poems)

James flung the small volume down on the couch next to him, listening forlornly as the book bounced on the cushion and then tumbled off, hitting the ground with a thunk. He grimaced, then sighed, before leaning over to fumble around on the floor for the book.

“Everything all right, James?” Francis asked, the previously present scratching of his pen coming to a halt.

“Yes…” He paused, sighing again. “No, it’s not.”

James’ hand finally hit the book and he grabbed it and sat back. “I’m tired of these books, Francis. I’m tired of _children’s school books_ being the only books I can read. What use is learning to parse this… this… typography, if there are no books printed in it?”

James’ sight had begun to fail on their long walk toward Fort Resolution. It had started with his left eye, and, while at first it had seemed contained, by the time they were England bound aboard the _Enterprise_ , his right eye had begun to fail as well. When they finally reached England’s shores, five long years after they sailed, James had gone completely blind.

Lady Jane, who was among the first to champion the causes of the survivors, even through her own grief, had told James of a “little school” across the pond in the United States, where blind children could learn to read through a method of embossed letters. She herself had learned of the school from Charles Dickens, who had visited there some years before.

Having written to the school on James’ behalf, she had acquired for him copies of two of the school’s texts, “The Blind Child’s Spelling Book” and “An Introductory Reading Book for Children.” The latter of which he had just unceremoniously dropped on the floor. They were fine books certainly; the ability to parse text, to _read_ , with his hands was welcome and he’d taken to it rather quickly, but there were simply no books printed using this method. Nothing for him to read but these children’s books over and over, or to ask Francis to read to him, which was certainly far from unpleasant, but Francis could not spend all day at James’ beck and call.

James heard Francis shift in his chair, and James imagined that Francis had turned to look at him. “I’m sure if you spoke to Lady Jane, she may be able to acquire further books from that school…”

He sounded unsure, as though he quite knew that his suggestion was not the solution to James’ problem.

“They would still be children’s books, books for learning. I am a learned man already. These…” He raised the book he was holding. “Were helpful because they taught me a new way to read things, but I’d very much like to read scientific works and all the novels I missed in the last five years and they are simply not printed this way. I appreciate your reading to me, please don’t think I don’t, but I feel utterly useless. There is so much I can no longer do for myself. I cannot even put my thoughts and frustrations to paper without your aid.” (He could, technically; he could still perform the act of writing, but it was difficult and horribly frustrating, and he couldn’t read over it once he was done.) He quieted for a moment. “I took for granted that I would always be in full possession of my faculties.” 

Francis’ desk chair scraped against the floor as he got to his feet, and James set down the book he was holding to reach out to Francis as he heard Francis’ footsteps approaching.

When Francis took his hand and settled onto the couch next to him, the tension in James’ body began to ease. “I’m sorry,” James murmured. “I shouldn’t complain. I am alive, that should be enough.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Francis said gently, drawing James closer. His hand brushed James’ side before he fully wrapped his arm around James’ waist to hold him close. “You have every right to mourn the loss of your sight and the many other losses that have come with that.”

James slumped into Francis, resting his cheek against Francis’ shoulder. “Still, I cannot help but think of those who lost far more. Those we could not bring home.”

“I do not think any of them would begrudge your wanting to achieve happiness in your life now,” Francis said, twining their fingers together as his other hand provided a comforting pressure at the small of James’ back. “Well, perhaps Hickey might…”

James snorted as an unexpected laugh bubbled forth. “That’s horrible.”

“But not an inaccurate assessment, I would say. I still cannot fathom that man’s cruelty.”

Then Francis sighed; the conversation was steering back to serious topics again. “I know you’ve been troubled by not being able to write much of anything, and I know having me transcribe letters for you is no good solution to something you’d rather do on your own.”

“It’s not…” James cut Francis off. He shifted a bit to rest more comfortably against Francis. “I don’t mind the letters so much. There is very little I would put in a letter these days that I wouldn’t share with you. It’s the drawing and journaling I miss the most. I enjoy writing, I would feel much less useless and bored if I could have things to do with my time when you weren’t home. Speaking of which, I need to write Will to thank him for the organ.”

William, who had been fretting over James since their return, and even more so after James had left the Coningham’s Brighton home to live with Francis, had gifted James a small barrel organ after James had sent a letter mentioning that he had horribly little he could do during his rather extended convalescence.

“We can do that this evening,” Francis said. “I have some letters I need to answer myself.”

James raised his head minutely. “I’ve been listening to you scratching away all afternoon, what have you been writing if not letters?”

Francis sighed heavily and that was all James needed to hear to take a good guess. “The Admiralty has been calling you to write up the story of the expedition.”

“ _Everyone_ has been calling for it,” Francis grumbled. “I have begun drafting an outline that I intend to send out to our officers and a selection of the men, so that we might create a cohesive narrative we can all agree upon.”

James hummed in agreement. “Yes, it won’t do to have people publishing wildly different accounts of that thing.”

Francis was quiet and James took the moment to detach himself from Francis’ side to stretch his joints, which were beginning to ache from the position he’d been laying in.

“James…” Francis huffed, irritated at something. James thought the irritation was likely directed inward.

“Yes, Francis?” He reached back over for Francis’ hand, and was grateful when Francis reached out to meet him in return.

“Do you think you feel well enough for a trip?”

“Well, I don’t think any doctor would discourage me from going down to the sea or to the country…” James began, not entirely sure where Francis was leading, but then Francis chuckled and James was suddenly viciously curious. “You’re up to something, aren’t you?”

“I am, I’ll admit it,” Francis said. “But I am also hesitant, because you have previously found a similar plan quite… unappealing.”

James tried not to grimace. “If this is about that school, Francis, I swear. I am not a _child_.”

Francis squeezed James’ hand. “I know, James, I know. But this is not about the American school, though it is about a school.”

James scowled and tried to pull his hand back from Francis, but Francis held firm.

“Please hear me out fully before you become upset with me,” Francis said, and his voice was so tender and plaintive that James really couldn’t say no. He settled back on the couch, raising his eyebrows at Francis as a silent gesture for him to continue.

“There is a school in Paris, the National Institute for Blind Children, that, I am told, teaches a method by which a blind person can write using a series of dots. I will admit my French is not as good as yours, so some of the details in the letters I received were rather lost on me, but I have arranged for us to meet privately with a teacher at the institute so that you might learn.” Francis paused for a moment before continuing. “Nothing is set in stone yet, but if you would like to go, I will write back with the dates of the visit we decide on.”

James had agreed, in the end. The prospect of finding a new way to write and read was very appealing, even though James was sure that it would have some of the same limitations as the embossed text did. The fact that it was for both reading _and_ writing already seemed an improvement, but James would withhold a full assessment until he actually began to learn the method.

The journey to France had been more pleasant than James had expected. It had been helped greatly by Francis presenting him with colored glasses, not unlike the snow goggles they’d had in the Arctic, to help mitigate how painfully sensitive his eyes had become to most any bright light. 

“They’re rather more fashionable than what we had, I think,” Francis had said, which had made James laugh and tease Francis about his knowledge of fashion. Francis, while he had laughed along with James’ teasing, had afterward told James most earnestly that he was trying to become more familiar with the fashions James liked and that just because he favored utility over dashing modern cuts did not mean he would inflict his own sense of fashion on James just because James could no longer see his clothes to choose.

It was those moments that made James feel utterly overwhelmed with love for Francis. That he should have found such an earnest and devoted lover in Francis felt almost unreal. No part of James’ newfound debilities seemed to cause Francis any pause. It was just a matter of finding new ways to do things. When Francis realized that touching James unprompted might cause him to flinch from the shock of not having seen it coming, he began making a point to mention such movements, or to slowly ease into them; a touch toJames cheek was not so unexpected if Francis’ hand had previously been resting at his neck and tracing his jaw. James felt he could hardly remember the days not so long ago when their every interaction had been rife with animosity.

The glasses certainly made the trip across the channel far more bearable as they were quite good at keeping the glare of the water from bothering his eyes. It had been so horrible during their return from the Arctic that James had had to bind his eyes with a dark cloth in order to be above deck at all on sunny days.

“Thank you for this,” James said, as they settled into their compartment in the train that would take them to Paris, “I know I was reticent at first, but the travel has been quite nice so far and I find I am rather looking forward to meeting this professor, what did you say his name was?”

“Louis Braille,” Francis said, taking a seat next to James. “He’s blind himself and it is my understanding that this dot writing method is of his own design. He’s written several books on it, apparently, though they don’t seem like they’ve been widely circulated.”

“I should very much like to read them,” James said, fidgeting with the bottom edge of his waistcoat. “I suppose I might be able to get my hands on a copy of one while we’re visiting the school.”

“I did try to see if I could find copies,” Francis admitted. “However, it seems to me that the books were likely published with the institute in mind, much like the ones from that American school, ah... Perkins.”

James sighed. “Yes, yes that does make sense. Still, I am very grateful you arranged all this Francis. I… I feel so very low sometimes, and I will admit that I was, well, I was rather worried about what traveling might be like now. The last time I did more than sit about in a room with an open window was when we came to London after our stay with Will and Lizzie in Brighton.”

He hadn’t been worrying himself about travel overmuch then, because doing anything at all had been so utterly exhausting. He’d needed help standing and walking still, so he would have been leaning on Francis regardless of whether he’d lost his sight or not.

Francis’ fingers brushed James’ sleeve briefly before he took James’ hand to hold it firmly between his own. “Then I’d say this trip was well overdue. We can’t have you becoming a shut in.”

James smiled. “Thank you, I don’t know how I should have managed without you.”

Francis squeezed James’ hand. “I think you would have done all right, you have your friends and family, and I’ve seen how they bolster you even now.”

“Yes, I suppose that is true,” James said. “But they weren’t there, Francis, you saw me through everything. Besides,” and here he leaned in towards Francis just a touch and lowered his voice, “there are other reasons I would not be parted from you.”

There was a fond sigh from Francis and James grinned, sitting up properly again. “Once we get moving, I expect you to give a full commentary on the scenes we pass. I want to hear everything.”

The day of what was to be the first of a series of meetings with Professor Braille, James found himself the most anxious he’d ever been during this whole trip. He also found himself reverting to his now useless habits of fussing over his clothing. Francis had been terribly patient with James’ fussing. Walking him through, more than once, the outfit he’d picked out for James. He’d even chosen a waistcoat with an embroidered pattern, which would give James something to discreetly fidget with.

“I am sorry for this morning,” James murmured quietly as he and Francis made their way, arm in arm, down the bustling Paris streets toward the Boulevard des Invalides. James’ cane made a satisfying click on the cobblestones as they walked.

There was a beat of silence before Francis spoke. “You are understandably anxious. This is a wholly new thing and we have put considerable effort into coming all this way, I would say it would be more than a little disappointing if things didn’t work out now.”

“Yes,” James let out a long breath. It was relieving that Francis could understand James’ fears so readily.

He opened his mouth to reply further when Francis tugged on his arm gently. “There’s a puddle on your left.”

James side-stepped carefully, following Francis’ lead.

“I know telling you not to fret will do no good, so I won’t,” Francis continued. “But I do think that this meeting will not go as poorly as you fear.”

“I think I just fear everything going wrong with this,” James said. “It seems impossible that I’ll get anything close to a normal life back, so anything that seems to offer something like… like… learning a new way to write… it all seems… well, rather unreal.”

“Yes, I can imagine, I must say I never gave much thought to how the blind live their lives,” Francis admitted. “But there are clearly ways that one can live a full life despite blindness.”

“Perhaps I should have taken Lady Jane’s offer to travel to America to see the school there,” James said. Ever since he and Francis had begun planning this visit, James had rather regretted being so dismissive of Perkins. It was undoubtedly a good school.

“We’re almost there,” Francis said, slowing this pace. “It’s just up ahead. And if you’d like to make a visit to Perkins at a later date, I’m sure we can arrange that. I rather think Lady Jane overstepped with how soon she pressed everything on you, you were barely back on your feet.”

The conversation petered out there in favor of Francis guiding James up the front steps of the building and then inside, but James certainly agreed with Francis’ assessment. Lady Jane’s enthusiasm had been overwhelming. He’d been grateful for her aid, but in retrospect it had rather been too much at once, ultimately leading to James’ stubborn aversion to anything to do with Lady Jane’s American school.

Francis took his leave once introductions had been made. They had discussed this before they’d left, James would meet with Professor Braille alone. If James was to work to regain some semblance of independence, he didn’t need Francis hovering constantly. Francis said he would return in an hour and with a final goodbye, he left.

That first lesson was deeply frustrating, though James did make some limited progress. The system made sense once explained, but it was all very detailed and James was a touch disappointed that he hadn’t made more progress by the time Professor Braille called things to a halt.

“You rely on Captain Crozier as your guide when you walk,” Braille noted. He had turned away from James to do something behind his desk.

“Yes,” James replied, nodding out of habit. “Most of the time. It’s easier than other ways. I’ve a leg injury as well, so I need a cane for that some days. Francis holding my arm while we walk is support in more than one regard.”

“I see.” Braille’s chair creaked as he turned back around. “I should like to have you try walking out of the building unaided when you leave. Of course, if your injury does not allow this today it can wait.”

“I have my cane,” James said. “So I should be able to manage.” He did not feel quite as confident as his words indicated. He could manage around his and Francis’ home; he’d walked through the rooms and halls with Francis enough time to be familiar navigating them on his own, but this was a wholly new space.

Braille gave a muffled cough before continuing. “Do you happen to have a bag with you.”

“That I do not have,” James said. “Though now that you mention it, it feels a bit of an oversight.”

“Hmm, no matter,” James heard a book snap shut. “I have copies of two of the books we use to teach braille here for you and you may keep the slate and stylus you used today as well, but I will carry them for you as we walk out so you might have a hand free.”

“Thank you, it’s much appreciated,” James said, placing the stylus and slate back on Braille’s desk.

It was an intense blur of week for James, he’d spend an hour each day working with Braille. Sometimes it was to do with the dot writing system, but other times Braille would have James simply walk through the halls snapping his fingers to see if he could hear when they entered a new room based on the change of the sound alone.

Following these lessons, James would spend the rest of the afternoon with Francis, either walking about Paris listening to Francis describe the sights or in their shared rooms with James pouring over the books. He’d taken to learning the dot system rather quickly once he’d begun treating like any other foreign language he’d learned. It was a little clumsy trying to write in English with it, as it was designed for writing French, but it was hardly the biggest hurdle to writing.

“I’m sure I look like a fool,” James muttered, sitting back to shake out his hand, which had become rather sore from continued hours of punching tiny holes in a piece of paper.

Francis chuckled. “You don’t look any more a fool than you did with that poor misaligned Fox.”

“Oh, don’t remind me of that horrid thing! If I wasn’t sure I’d lose it utterly, I’d throw my stylus at you,” James teased, waving the tool in Francis’ general direction.

“You look determined,” Francis said after another moment. “Rather how you do when you throw yourself into any subject of study. It’s just a matter of different tools. The Fox is a strange looking apparatus to those who don’t know its use.”

That was true, James supposed. “Well, regardless,” he said. “If I have to write anymore today my hand is liable to fall off.”

“Why don’t I take a turn with it then,” Francis suggested. “I’d rather like to try my hand at learning this dot writing.”

“I…” James opened and closed his mouth. “You don’t have to just for my sake, Francis.”

“A fair point, but I _want_ to, James.” Francis sighed, and James heard Francis’ footfalls approach the small table James was seated at, then the sound of a chair being pulled over.

“You have been happier this week than I’ve seen you in months,” Francis continued once he was seated.“And I know you’ve expressed concerns about how limited texts for blind people are.”

Francis tapped his fingers on the table next to James’ hand briefly before taking James’ hand and running his thumb over his knuckles. “I thought that if I were to learn this writing system as well you could have another person in your circle who could read what you write.”

James couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, even as he felt tears (happy tears) welling in his eyes.

“Right then,” James said. He drew his hand back to open the slate and insert another piece of paper before turning it around and pushing it toward Francis. “The first thing you need to know is that you’ll have to write everything backwards, and second, you’re going to need to wear a blindfold.” 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. There is a real condition that causes you to go blind in an uninjured eye after a traumatic injury to one eye. It’s called [sympathetic ophthalmia,](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sympathetic_ophthalmia) and it’s actually a likely reason why Louis Braille went blind in both eyes instead of just the one that was injured. For Fitzjames, I would argue that scurvy induced hemorrhaging is absolutely a traumatic injury.
> 
> 2\. Lady Jane’s “little school” is the Perkins School for the Blind in Boston, which Charles Dickens did in fact visit three years prior to the Franklin expedition in 1842.
> 
> 3\. [“The Blind Child’s Spelling Book” and “An Introductory Reading Book for Children”](https://www.perkins.org/history/timeline/1800s#Books) were two of the first books published using Boston Line Type (a method of printing embossed text) for Perkins in 1835.  
> [Here is an example of Boston Line Type from "The Blind Child's Spelling Book,"](https://www.flickr.com/photos/perkinsarchive/13294893665/in/photolist-vvFa5N-mfPNGz-mfRH1u-mfQDXM-mfQGyt-mfPRzi-hQGN1f-hskzoA-moZbaN-moYbzr-mfy8HT-mfA3VG-mfyZrZ-mfy9Bg-kUKpHe-j6itLZ-gws6hg-eJ46Mv-eJa9ju-e62MWM/) you can see why Fitzjames might be a bit frustrated by having just this kind of book to read.
> 
> 4\. Braille stopped teaching at the Institute in 1849 due to his health. Since this fic takes place in 1850, we’re obviously fudging a bit here, but hey if there are Franklin expedition survivors Louis Braille can teach at the National Institute for Blind Youth for an extra year. 
> 
> 5\. The books Braille gives Fitzjames were meant to be the [second edition of "Method of Writing Words, Music and Plain Songs by Means of Dots for Use by the Blind and Arranged for Them" and "Little Synopsis of Arithmetic for Beginners,"](https://www.afb.org/about-afb/history/online-museums/life-and-legacy-louis-braille/braille-nvents-his-code/books) but I couldn't fit the titles in. Both books are more robust descriptions of Braille's code, and the latter has instructions for creating your own braille teaching materials, so they were probably more interesting reading for James.  
> The slate and stylus Fitzjames uses [would look something like this.](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e9/Slate_and_Stylus_3.jpg) These are modern, but they really haven't changed over much since their inception, though finding images of slates dating back further than 1935 is difficult. The one Fitzjames used would have been made of metal.
> 
> 6\. Francis' comment about the "misaligned Fox" stems from the fact that the Fox (the instrument used to take magnetic readings) that Fitzjames had aboard _Erebus_ was mounted incorrectly making it a nightmare for him to use, [which he complained about in several letters.](https://indifferent-century.tumblr.com/post/622730515655589888/i-imagine-you-can-help-me-with-this-what-is-the)


End file.
